


the night we met

by Mooncactus



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: F/M, you can rip this ship from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 04:52:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12674802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mooncactus/pseuds/Mooncactus
Summary: Tom remembers how he and Star started dating in bits and pieces.





	the night we met

**Author's Note:**

> I started shipping Tom and Star spring 2014, when someone posted a board test of the very very very old versions of the Blood Moon Ball (then "Demon Prom"). For three and a half years I lived off table scraps and HOPE.
> 
> This is the best week OF MY LIFE.
> 
> Shout out to the Tomstar discord, y'all are the coolest.

Tom wished he could remember the very first time he saw Star. He had memories of a few other things from that age - temper tantrums, early outbursts of his powers, his first nanny - but not her.

His parents _did_ remember, though, and had told him the story over and over. Tom heard it a million times, and he’s tried to re-angle it, see it all from the eye level of a three and a half year old, make it into his own memory. It would have to do.

Star’s parents had taken her to the Underworld court just a few weeks after her second birthday, and her wet nurse kept close by just in case Star flipped out from all the stimulus. It was, after all, the first time she had seen non-Mewmans before.

But - as his parents told it - she just slipped out of her nurse’s grasp and ran up to stare at Mother in awe. Then she kept walking - stared down his father without much interest, and then came up to him, wearing a blue suit that he remembered itched something awful.

She stopped, looking up to him, blue eyes wide.

“He’s ugly,” she announced, turning back to look at her parents.

Tom burst into tears.

(The only _good_ part of this was that Star didn’t remember it, _at all.)_

* * *

The first time he _heard_ Star, he definitely remembered.

Tom had attended every Silver Bell Ball since he was born - he had spent the first few perched on his father’s lap, enjoying the proceedings and memorizing each fascinating dance. He loved it.

Then he turned ten, and _he_ became the evening’s entertainment. He was an awkward gangly kid who could barely stutter out a request to dance, and he felt constantly that the lords, ladies, kings, queens, princesses, etc, at the other end of the ballroom were laughing at him. After his very first, very awkward dance he had stormed out on the balcony in a rage, toppling some vases off the side. Being a preteen was like being trapped a suit of armor that really hated you and wanted to maximize your suffering. And also gave you zits.

He gritted his teeth and bared a night of of it without complaint. (Audible, at least. He set a few more things on fire.) Tom _was_ a decent dancer - his dad was infamous for it back when he was a teenager, and insisted on teaching Tom everything he knew. Unfortunately, there was a huge difference between dancing in his parents’ bedrooms as his mother accompanied them on harp and trying to desperately wipe down his sweaty palms before he offered a hand.

Tom got better at the performance part of court life, mostly by realizing everyone else kinda really sucked at dancing. By the evening of his second year participating, he felt a lot more prepared, and was even kinda looking forward to it. There was a new girl at the opposite end, Princess Pony Head, and Tom spent most of the hours preceding trying to figure out how to dance with someone without arms. It went surprisingly smoothly, although he could have done without Pony Head’s whispered commentary which bordered on a little… mean.

His dad patted his shoulder when he sat down. “You’re a natural,” he said, with a grin.

“Learned it all from you,” Tom said, beaming back at him.

“This is so _boring_ ,” groaned a voice beside them, and Tom turned around to see princess Star Butterfly - still a smidge too young to participate - mercilessly destroying the hem of her dress. He faced forward again, hiding a grimace from the Mewni royals.

“Why do I have to come here and not do anything?”

“One more year,” Queen Moon said, voice flat.

“And then I get to dance with a bunch of gross boys who are way shorter than me,” the princess muttered. “Great!”

Tom was not looking forward to it either.

* * *

 The ballroom was dead silent.

It had been almost two whole minutes since the commencement bows, and no one had moved. Tom fidgeted awkwardly in his chair. Confident with dancing or not, he hadn’t ever _started_ the ball before. Not to mention the sooner he started dancing, the sooner he had to dance with _her._

He wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why everyone was so slow to get the ball rolling. It was immense pressure to have the princess of Mewni there for the first time ever, and that was _without_ her reputation for breaking things and “playful” fistfights.

Not that she looked like the wrecking ball of destruction tonight. She was wearing a big purple dress with a amethyst studded tiara, and you could mistake her expression for shyness instead of excruciating boredom, if you didn’t know any better.

But regardless of how horrifying the thought of dancing with Princess Star Butterfly was, he didn’t want to spend the entire evening sitting in a chair.

Oh, _Earth_ , he might as well get it done and over with.

She was right across him, it made it easier to put one foot in front of the other as he made the agonizingly awkward trek across the ballroom floor.

“Princess Butterfly,” he said, with a quick bow. “May I have this dance?”

He heard a chorus of gasps from the other heirs. (The grown ups were way too cultured and refined to express shock. Audibly.)

“Uhhhh,” Star said, looking at his hand and up at him. “Uh.”

“Girl,” hissed Pony Head, a reminder or a warning, and Star’s shoulders jolted up to her ears.

“I mean. Yup. Yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”

He pulled her to her feet and immediately felt her hand shaking in his. A wave of sympathy fell over him. Star Butterfly might have been a terror; but she was also ten. He remembered how terrifying this was, to be on display like this.

“It’s okay,” Tom whispered. “I’ll lead. You don’t have to do much, just count--”

“I know how to _dance,”_ Star snapped, and his sympathy evaporated. He bit down on the inside of his cheek before he set something on fire.

The waltz started up, and Tom shut his eyes, looking for the serenity and sense of accomplishment he reached when dancing, and hoped Star wouldn’t step on his feet too much. Intentionally, at least.

But to his surprise, Star was… actually doing pretty well. He glanced at her - (they were precisely the same height, which was annoying when he was year and a half older) and she raised an eyebrow, like, _see?_

 _Fine_ , he thought. _Have it your way._ He threw her into an unexpected twirl, and she gasped but recovered quickly. Then it was on - increasingly tricky steps and showy moves, all while keeping to the music.

“Have we met before?” Star asked, spinning effortlessly toward him.

“Kinda,” he answered, truthfully.

His hands landed on her waist when the spin ended, and he could feel his face go purple.

“Can you do a lift?” she asked, eyes wide. “I’ve always wanted to do a lift.”

Tom had no idea if he could, but his dad had lifted _him_ high in the air plenty of times. As the music came to a crescendo he picked her up - she was, thankfully, a very light ten year old - and twirled her around before depositing her back on her feet. He saw flickering out of the corner of his eyes, and with horrified alarm realized he had left trails of fire where his feet had been.

“Ooh,” said the princess, totally undaunted. “That’s cool.”

Tom’s voice was low, rough. “You think so?”

“Duh,” she beamed, and a explosion of pink sparks he _knew_ wasn’t his magic burst from the flames.

The crowd broke into thunderous applause as they parted, more than the prince had ever heard at any of these dances. Tom blinked. Well, it was the first dance of the crown princess of Mewni. He supposed it made sense.

Star curtsied, and then beamed up at him. “Not bad.”

“Not bad yourself,” he said, and escorted her back to her seat.

While he walked back to his own chair, Queen Moon met his eye and actually _smiled_. And when they went home that night, his dad couldn’t stop grinning and patting him on the shoulder.

Grown ups were so weird.

* * *

 He had already decided he would ask Star to dance first again this year. His parents had been thrilled by the suggestion; they thought it was an excellent gesture of alliance towards Mewni. Tom didn’t mind - it was better than dancing with Pony Head, where he had to do 90% of the work and got mocked endlessly throughout.

When he entered the ballroom, his eyes found her immediately. Star’s hair had been cropped short, and she was uncharacteristically serious, her mouth a flat line. He was strolling towards her before Manfred could even announce the ball had begun, and bowed, offering her a hand.

Star smiled, and he saw why she had been keeping her mouth shut. Braces. He grinned back at her..

“Nice teeth.”

“Shut up,” she said, voice light. “Maybe if you had them you wouldn’t have a fang sticking out of your mouth.”

Usually, a comment like that would infuriate him.

Instead, he laughed.

They took took the dance floor.

“I’m calling dibs on your first dance next year,” she said, after a particularly daring dip.

“Deal,” he said. “We have to set a standard, you know.”

“Not like anyone comes close,” Star snorted. “Why are you always late to these things, anyway? I mean, it’s the same time every dang year.”

“I was… fixing my hair,” he admitted, truthfully.

“Ah,” she said. “That explains the hair gel I could smell across the ballroom. Who exactly are you trying to impress?”

 _You_ , he thought, not nearly brave enough to admit it.

* * *

 The next year passed quickly in a series of growth spurts and piercings. It felt weird to put on princely clothes with all of them in, but he had informed his parents that they would close up if he took them out for a night and they had relented. They already stuck out like a sore thumb around the other royal families; a few ear piercings wouldn’t make much of a difference. He had rushed to get his jacket retailored - it was awkwardly tight in the shoulders - and literally had the tailor doing the last adjustments in the carriage ride up to Mewni.

The woman patted him on the shoulder and he was jumping out the doors, forcing himself not to run across the patio. He was fine; it was fine, they couldn’t start without him and…

At least Star teasing him about it meant a guaranteed conversation.

“Ah, and _here_ is young Thomas Lucitor, and the Lord and Lady Lucitor,” Manfred announced as he strolled in, clearly relieved. “Now, then…”

He saw two rows of happy faces greeting him - well, mostly, Princess Spider Bite looked a little peeved - and Star, all the way at the end.

… was gawking at him, open mouthed.

Tom ran a hand over the gelled spikes of his hair, suddenly self conscious. Did he look dumb? Maybe his shoes were untied? Were his pants on fire? (He had done that before. Way too many times, in fact.)

Manfred gave him a nudge and a little cough, and he scurried to his seat for the commencement bow.

As soon as everyone rose from their bows and curtsies (and dips in the air, in Pony Head’s case) he made a b-line for Star.

“I remembered you called dibs,” he said, holding out a hand.

She stared at it, and then back up at him. “You pierced your ears.”

“Yeah,” Tom said, and before he could catch himself: “Do you like them?”

“They’re cool,” she said, voice surprisingly quiet, and took his hand and rose from her chair. Her face was pink. He wondered if she was feeling alright.

“You’re… taller,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, yeah,” he said, leaning in so no one else could tell they were talking. “Is that a problem?”

Star pulled back a little, her face still slightly pink. “It’s going to mess up our choreo.”

He rolled his eyes. “Our _choreo_ will be fine, Star.”

“Is that a bet?” she said, eyes glittering.

“Yes,” he said, spinning her. “And don’t you dare self-sabotage this just so you can prove your point.”

“Me?” she said, aghast. “ _Never_.”

Star had begun to come into her magic; it sparkled around them as they danced, playing with the fire left behind by Tom’s feet. It’d be a whole performance by the time she got her wand; they’d probably have to clear the dance floor next year. It’d be spectacular. By the time they were adults…

He caught himself. By the time they were adults, they’d no longer be dancing. The Silver Bell Ball was for kids. He was going to have to acknowledge, sooner or later, that this _thing_ with Star had an expiration date. One day they’d just be two rulers, too busy for anything other than polite conversation at overly long dinners…

“Tom, hello, you still there?" Star called, and he jolted.

“Sorry. Lost in thought.”

The music ended, and he felt angry with himself for wasting the dance by moping about the future. He chewed on his lip as he bowed and Star curtsied.

“Pretend you’re going to the bathroom and meet me outside,” she whispered, as she straightened.

“What?” he said, but she was already walking away - past her chair and onto the balcony entrance.

Tom stood, dumbfounded, before following her instructions.

Star was waiting outside for him on the balcony, moonlight reflecting off her blond hair, braided and tied into a bun at the base of her neck. She must have been growing it out. A strand hung loose around her ear, and Tom shoved his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching out to fix it.

“Hey,” he said, voice low.

“Hey,” Star said. “Good dancing.”

“You too,” Tom replied, wondering why they needed to be outside to have this conversation. He scratched his heel with the toe of his boot. She looked very pretty in the moonlight, and he wasn’t sure how to balance between making eye contact and just staring at her like a creep.

“So…” she said, looking up at him. “You’ve got an interdimensional mirror?”

“Uh… yes?” he said, tilting his head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Star gave him an imploring look. “Does it have a _number?”_

“...Yes?”

Star groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “You! You are _clueless_! Tall, cute, and _clueless._ ”

“Hey--” Tom said, squaring his shoulders defensively, his temper rising. “Hey, that’s not -- I don’t know _what_ you’re going on about, you’re the one who dragged me out here - you’ve never tried to talk me during the ball before and I didn’t know what--- did you say _cute_?”

Star ignored this. “Am I ever going to see you outside of this dumb ball?”

“It’s not dumb,” Tom snapped, still defensive. And then his brain caught all the way up. “Wait, what?”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“I … what? I mean, sure, of course, but I didn’t think you… you never … Wait, do you _want_ to hang out?”

In response, Star yanked on his arm, dragging him down to her level.

“Ow,” he hissed, just as Star landed a kiss on his cheek, bordering the corner of his mouth.

All three of his eyes went wide.

“Then pick me up tomorrow at seven,” she said, smiling wide, and then skipped away and sprinted back into the ballroom.

Tom touched his cheek, face bright purple, and stood there stunned until Manfred dragged him back in for his last few dances.

He didn’t think he’d forget _that_ for as long as he lived.

 


End file.
